The old scavenger's comrades congregate at the main gate to our compound every morning. Through sheer observation I learned their do's and don'ts, their big taboos and their little no-nos, their codes, and their pecking order. They have come to know and accept me too. They no longer gawk at my Spandex shorts, at my jewelry, and at my faux Han Dynasty hair sticks. I sometimes still pretend that I am a character in a wuxia, specifically King of the Beggars' Guild, because they greet me cordially, at times give me little offerings, and watch over our compound.

I still wonder why the scavengers in our neighborhood are all old men. I know that some of them are married and have children, but I have never seen a homeless teenager roaming the streets and making a living out of scavenging.

Perhaps scavengers are men aged 50 and above who have had too many mid-life crises and dashed dreams, and no longer have the initiative to better their stations in life.